In this episode of Status Check with Spivey, Spivey Consulting's COO Anna Hicks-Jaco gives the insider perspective on AI-generated personal statements—currently a hot topic of discussion in law school admissions offices—and critiques two personal statements written using ChatGPT. One of the AI-written essays follows a more general prompt, and one a specific prompt based on an A+ personal statement written by a real applicant a few years ago. You can read both of the full essays (plus a full transcript of this episode) below.
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AI-Generated Personal Statement #1
Saturdays at the farmer’s market were always filled with vibrant colors, enticing smells, and the rhythmic chatter of vendors hawking their wares. One particular Saturday, as I was purchasing fresh bell peppers, I overheard a terse exchange between a farmer named Mr. Ramirez and a customer. The customer, unsatisfied with the price, was demanding a discount, claiming the advertised price was deceptive.
"Your sign says $1.50 a pound, but you told me $3.00 for these two peppers. That's cheating," accused the customer.
Mr. Ramirez patiently explained, "The sign is right, but those peppers are heavier than a pound. Why don’t we weigh them again?" The scale reaffirmed his honesty. Rather than leaving, the customer continued to haggle, asserting his own sense of fairness over the clearly marked prices.
This altercation may have seemed trivial to many, but to me, it illuminated a fundamental principle: the undeniable importance of laws and regulations in our daily lives. In that marketplace, where dozens of transactions occurred every minute, the principles of contract law, however informally applied, guided each sale. It was the beginning of my appreciation for the legal frameworks that subtly govern even our simplest interactions.
As I continued my undergraduate studies in sociology, I found the interplay between law and society fascinating. My course on “Law and Social Order” explored how societies codify beliefs, set norms, and enforce rules through legal systems. I realized that law, at its core, is a delicate balance of serving the collective good while respecting individual rights. But like that altercation at the market, the application of the law isn’t always straightforward.
My interest in law led me to intern at the office of Attorney Lydia Mendoza. Lydia was a community lawyer who worked tirelessly for those without a voice, often representing marginalized communities. She once shared, “Law isn't just about understanding statutes; it’s about understanding people. Every clause, every precedent has a human story behind it.”
During my internship, I had the opportunity to assist on a case where a tenant, a single mother of two, was being wrongfully evicted from her apartment. The landlord claimed neglect on her part, citing damage to the property. But as we delved into the evidence, it became clear that the building’s disrepair was a result of the landlord’s own negligence. Here, contract law wasn’t just an academic concept; it was a lifeline for a family at risk of homelessness. We eventually secured the tenant's rights to stay, but this victory was more than just a legal triumph; it was a testament to the power of law to protect and ensure justice.
These experiences solidified my decision to attend law school. I believe that with a robust legal education, I can effectively serve individuals and communities who find themselves at the crossroads of life-altering legal issues. Whether it’s a dispute over a simple transaction or a complex contractual disagreement, I want to be the voice that advocates, mediates, and seeks justice.
In conclusion, that day at the farmer’s market was an unexpected lesson on the pervasive nature of law. It's everywhere - in the weighing of peppers, in the signs that advertise prices, and in the very fabric of our daily exchanges. I want to immerse myself in the intricacies of this discipline, not just for the love of jurisprudence but for the countless individuals whose lives are shaped by it. I am eager to embark on this journey and play my part in the evolving narrative of justice.
Real Personal Statement
Featured on our podcast here. Please note that all names have been changed for anonymity, and this essay is shared with permission from the applicant.
I was eight years old when my older sister Maria handed me an envelope, put me on a city bus, and told me to bring it to my mother and not to look inside. Of course, I looked. Then I panicked. The envelope was full of heroin.
I ran to my other sister Jenny’s house—I am one of five siblings, with four sisters all between 10 and 15 years older than me—and asked her what to do. My first instinct had been to go to the police, as I had been taught in school, but I didn’t want my mom to get into trouble. Jenny calmed me down, then put me back on the bus, alone, and told me to do as I was told.
When I got to my mom’s house, she wasn’t home. Instead, I was greeted by her boyfriend, Charlie, who was furious that I’d made him wait for the drugs and became violent and abusive. When my mom got home, she was angry that I’d made Charlie angry, and more abuse followed. This was always how things happened between the three of us—I’d accidentally make Charlie mad, and that would make my mom mad. They both became violent when they were angry. When this dynamic became too much, I would show up at one of my older sister’s houses, but sooner or later I would be sent back to my mother. My father, for his part, had died of an overdose when I was four years old. I don’t remember him. My earliest memory is the day he died—the ambulance lights, the EMTs, then bits and pieces of the funeral.
At sixteen, I’d finally had enough. After a particularly violent outburst, I ran to my sister’s house, called the police, and reported Charlie for assault. My mother arrived in a rage, demanding I drop the charges. When I refused, she disowned me. I remember her eyes darkening, her face hardening. She told me, “I have no son.” That was the last time I saw her—three years later, she died.
After that night, I moved onto the couch in my sister Maria’s living room along with her husband and three children, then dropped out of high school so I could work full-time and pay rent. On my eighteenth birthday, I signed a lease for my own apartment, and I set out on my own. I got my GED and enrolled in community college, but my work schedule, constantly changing, made it difficult to ever consistently attend my classes. Professors sometimes gave assignments that required me to buy materials I couldn’t afford, or travel somewhere I wasn’t able to. When they asked me why I didn’t complete the assignment, I was too ashamed to explain why or to ask for help. I ended up leaving school after just two months.
The turning point for me came when I moved in with a new roommate and her three-year-old son Sammy. I care for children deeply, and Sammy grew to see me as a parent figure. I remember one day taking him to the park—I taught him how to swing, and we rolled down a hill, laughing and grass-stained at the bottom before sprinting back up to do it again. I ended up carrying him the six blocks home, his head on my shoulder as he slept in my arms. I knew then that I never wanted to raise my voice in anger towards Sammy, or hurt him in any way. I knew I could be different from my family—that I did not just have to be the product of my circumstances.
Over time, I managed to get some success in taking college courses, and it started to build on itself. I took it one step at a time, and before I knew it, I had finished my bachelor’s degree. This step had once seemed impossible to me, but now it was a reality. Today, anything seems possible. Just a few years ago, my world was so closed off, but now I have a wonderful support system of friendships, and my future seems limitless. After growing up in deeply unfair circumstances, I developed a strong sense of fairness, and I hope to take that into law school and into a career as a lawyer. As a child, I never would have imagined myself where I am today, but I know now that I have the ability to achieve my dreams, and becoming a lawyer is the next step in that pursuit.
When I was a kid living in La Habra, I sometimes spent my days collecting cans from dumpsters and bringing them to a recycling center, earning 90 cents per pound. Sometimes, I would earn enough to buy a massive Mexican bread cookie from the local bakery. A couple of years ago, I went back to my old neighborhood, seeing it all with new eyes. I stopped into the bakery and bought one of those bread cookies, but it seemed so much tinier than I remembered. I wasn’t sure if the cookie had gotten smaller, or if I had just gotten bigger. In so many ways, the neighborhood seemed just the same. It was me, I realized, who had changed.
AI-Generated Personal Statement #2
In the early afternoon sun, the world seemed both vast and insignificant to my 8-year-old self as I clutched the envelope my sister had handed me. With strict instructions not to peek, I embarked on a mission to deliver it to our mother. However, curiosity gnawed at me, and I yielded to its temptation, revealing a shocking truth – the envelope contained a substance I would later understand to be heroin.
My immediate response was to seek help, a notion ingrained in me by elementary school lessons about right and wrong. I contemplated involving the authorities, but my young mind grasped the potential consequences this could inflict on my mother. The struggle between duty and loyalty was daunting for a child, and so I turned to my older sister for guidance.
Her counsel echoed with conflicting emotions, mirroring the complex dynamics of our family. "Give it to Mom," she advised, highlighting the intricate balance of love and responsibility that had shaped our lives. I followed her counsel, but destiny played a harsh hand, leading me to our mother's boyfriend – a man who had wielded both physical and emotional pain.
Growing up had forced me to confront realities that others my age could scarcely comprehend. My father's absence, lost when I was merely 4, had painted the canvas of my earliest memories. Those early brushstrokes had traced a life marked by hardship, yet they also carried the seeds of resilience that would guide me through the tumultuous journey ahead.
Leaving my mother's house at 16 was not an act of defiance but a desperate bid for self-preservation. With a high school education abandoned in the face of survival, I navigated life's stormy seas, finding refuge on my sister's couch as I paid rent through hard work. A GED, a beacon of second chances, led me to the doors of a community college, but internal battles thwarted my academic aspirations.
Amidst this turmoil, a new chapter began. Sharing a home with a roommate and her child illuminated a path of hope and transformation. The genuine connection forged with her child sparked a revelation – the power to break familial cycles of hardship and build a foundation for a brighter future.
Guided by this newfound purpose, I discovered an unwavering drive to rekindle my academic journey. Fueled by a desire to harness the law as a force for good, I secured a college degree against all odds. This journey, born from adversity, instilled within me an unshakable determination to pursue a legal education. The tenacity that saw me through tumultuous times now compels me to embrace the challenges of law school.
Through my experiences, I have glimpsed the power of advocacy and the transformative potential of the law. My journey from a child burdened with secrets to an adult empowered by the pursuit of justice drives my aspiration to become a lawyer. I am resolved to be a voice for those who are unheard, to advocate for justice in the face of adversity, and to forge a legacy that nurtures hope in the hearts of the next generation.
As I stand on the precipice of law school, I carry with me the stories of my past, woven into the fabric of my identity. These stories inform my commitment to justice, resilience, and the pursuit of a better tomorrow – not just for myself, but for the countless lives I hope to touch along the way.
